The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer

glow,

But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty

stood,

Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the

plague on men,

And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and glen.

And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come,

To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter

home,

When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still,

And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance

late he bore,

And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no

more.

And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side; In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf,

And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief ; Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of

ours,

So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. -William Cullen Bryant.

THE

SONG OF THE HARVEST.

HE glad harvest greets us; brave toiler for bread, Good cheer! the prospect is brighter ahead; Like magic, the plentiful sunshine and rain Have ripened our millions of acres of grain; And the poorest the wolf may keep from his door, There'll be bread and to spare another year more. So sing merrily, merrily,

As we gather it in;

We will store it away gladly,
In garner and bin.

We hailed with delight, yet tempered with fear,
The corn as it grew from the blade to the ear;
Lest haply, though large is the surplus in store,
That bread might be dearer for twelve months or more;
But the sunshine and rain, how they ripened the grain
That waited the sickle over hillside and plain!

So sing merrily, merrily,

As we gather it in;

We will store it away gladly,

In garner and bin.

Oh, ne'er let us question the Wisdom which guides
Our feet in green pastures, and for us provides;
Who now, as aforetime, His glory displays,

In the bounty that crowns our autumnal days;
Let the glad tidings echo the continent o'er,
There'll be bread and to spare another year more!

So sing merrily, merrily,

As we gather it in;

We will store it away gladly,
In garner and bin.

Henry Stevenson Washburn.

"The Vacant Chair and Other Poems."

THE FIELDS OF CORN.

O'E

ER many roods of restless blades

The sunburnt farmer goes; And there till day's refulgence fades

He plows among the rows.

From purple eve to crimson morn
The furrows smile and grow ;
The moon hangs out her silver
horn,

And pours her light below.

Through sunny days and yellow weeks,

With clouds that melt in tears,
The glory of the harvest speaks
In all the silken ears.

The wind stirs with the rosy dawn,
And strikes the dewy plain;
And, flying swifter than the fawn,
It bends the stalks of grain.

The tassels spread 'neath cheering rays,
And plume the kingly form;

The furrows lift the creamy maize,
And greet the welcome storm.

When all the woods are hung with green,
And hills are strewn with sheaves,
When flowers blush deep where bees have been,
The ears grow fast like leaves.

The squirrel comes from mantled trees
Which line these fields of wealth;
And, when light flows in rippling seas,
He strips the ear by stealth.

When fields of green turn sear and brown,
And woods grow rich with stain,
And orchards bend with pippins down,
And barns are choked with grain;

When Autumn hangs his sumptuous robes
Out in the glowing morn,

Which hides the lamps of distant globes, —

Then gleams the ripened corn.

-J. Hazard Hartzell.

COLUMBIA'S EMBLEM.

LAZON Columbia's Emblem,
The bounteous, golden Corn!
Eons ago, of the great sun's glow

And the joy of earth, 'twas born.
From Superior's shore to Chile,
From the ocean of dawn to the

west,

With its banners of green and silken sheen,
It sprang at the sun's behest;

And by dew and shower, from its natal hour
With honey and wine 'twas fed,

Till the gods were fain to share with men
The perfect feast outspread.

For the rarest boon to the land they loved
Was the Corn so rich and fair,

Nor star nor breeze o'er the farthest seas
Could find its like elsewhere.

In their holiest temples the Incas
Offered the heaven-sent Maize-
Grains wrought of gold, in a silver fold,
For the sun's enraptured gaze;

And its harvest came to the wandering tribe
As the gods' own gift and seal;
And Montezuma's festal bread

Was made of its sacred meal.
Narrow their cherished fields; but ours

Are broad as the continent's breast,
And lavish as leaves, the rustling sheaves
Bring plenty and joy and rest.

For they strew the plains and crowd the wains
When the reapers meet at morn,

Till blithe cheers ring and west winds sing
A song for the garnered Corn.

The rose may bloom for England,
The lily for France unfold;
Ireland may honor the shamrock,
Scotland her thistle bold;

But the shield of the great Republic,
The glory of the West,

Shall bear a stalk of the tasseled Corn,
Of all our wealth the best!